bliss
by whatifellinlovewith
Summary: Bliss: (noun) perfect happiness; great joy. Kate celebrates her first Mother's Day with baby Brandon. Takes place in the 'fortuitous' universe, but you don't have to read that to understand this.


_**bliss**_

* * *

 _bliss_ : (noun) perfect happiness; great joy

* * *

He reaches twirls the spoon in the thick pancake batter, watching as the mixture of eggs and flour and milk and butter wraps around the wood, separates at the mercy of his wrists careful movements. And then he looks up, away from the contents of the big mixing bowl, and up at the counter where a seat bounces up and down, legs kicking wildly in excitement.

His son sits in the bouncy seat he loves so much, all chubby cheeks and tummy and legs. Eyes wide open with the curiosity the baby has developed over the past couple weeks, lips parted on the soft sounds of pleasure and the quiet coos that escapes his little mouth. And his hands, tiny and just as chubby as the rest of him, reach up for the rattling, dangling toys that hang above him.

A smile coming across his face, he reaches over and pulls the baby's foot. Surprised, the little boy lets out a sudden, loud and sharp _ah_ that is involuntary but adorable. "Hey, B.J. You keep screaming like that and you're gonna wake up Mommy," he chastises, rolling the spoon in the thick batter once again. "And we don't want that, do we?" He drops the spoon into the bowl and turns completely towards Brandon, reaching out for his little boy's hands. "No we don't," he coos, "because we want Mommy to have a _really_ happy Mommy's Day."

When he tugs on B.J.'s foot once again, the baby pulls it out of his grasp, and he smiles, despite the sudden lack of contact. At fifteen weeks old, Brandon's motor skills have improved greatly. He can reach and hold and put just about _anything_ in his mouth. His arms and back and neck are strong enough now for him to hold his head off the ground when he's on his stomach. That's Kate's favorite, when his changing eyes are wide with curiosity, his head up off the ground and he just looks around like he's taking in everything he sees.

He, however, prefers Brandon's newfound ability to react to voices and faces, to recognize people based on those things. And not just when it's directed at him, when he sees his son look up, look _for him_ when the baby hears his voice. But, really, when he sees the way her face lights up when Brandon recognizes her, the way her arms instantly reach for her baby, and his arms flail for his mommy.

Brandon has distracted himself again, his attention span as short as ever. He tugs on his favorite of the hanging toes, trying to gather the strength to pull the plastic to his wide open mouth. It's a star, his favorite, and it's bright, bright yellow with a little mirror in the middle. Right now, he's in a playful mood, so he bats at the star, pushes it back and forth, swings it over and over again. And it's adorable. But when he's in a more calm and curious mood, he stares at his reflection in the star. And that's just as perfect.

Smiling at his baby, he leaves Brandon alone for a second and turns towards the mixing bowl all over again. As Brandon coos happily, he easily scoops some of the batter onto the griddle, hearing the instant, barely audible sizzle of the heat frying the pancake, cooking it, turning the base of it that lovely shade of golden brown. And then he does it again. And again. So there is three pancakes, uniform in size, cooking in front of him.

He cooks them one by one, stacks the first three onto a single plate, her plate, and then all the others onto another plate that he leaves on the counter. And then he focuses on hers, spreads a thick layer of whipped cream across the first pancake. And then he chops up a whole container worth of strawberries, spreads some across the layer of whipped cream and drizzles them with chocolate. And then he repeats the process for the next pancake. For the last one, he arranges it all a little more nicely, cuts the strawberry into hearts, drizzles chocolate nicely over the top of the stack. It looks perfect, her favorite kind of sweet.

Brandon continues to coo at his toys, kicking his little feet excitedly. He figures the baby will be hungry soon, knows that Brandon's schedule now has him feeding once right before bed, once in the middle of the night and once rather early in the morning, but no earlier than their average body drop. It's easier on Kate, and Brandon is just as happy and healthy as ever, their perfect little boy.

He watches the baby for a second, smiles at his coos, watches his tense, uncoordinated kicks, and then turns away. The actions are practiced, the quantities measured without a single thought as he makes her coffee. Sweet and vanilla flavored, just the way she likes it. The soft clinks of the spoon against the glass of the mug pull Brandon's attention from the toys hanging above him, and despite his sure lack of good eyesight, the baby turns towards him, towards the foreign noise.

He sets the mug of coffee next to the plate on the counter, and then turns towards Brandon. Between the rather full mug, the plate and the baby, he's unsure as to how he's going to carry everything. But he knows one thing is non-negotiable. So he reaches over, undoes the clips around Brandon's stomach and waist, slips his hands around the baby's back, under his little arms, and then lifts the baby out of the bouncy seat, cradles him against his chest. His neck is stronger now, and instead of sagging against his shoulder, Brandon struggles to look up, to examine this world that fascinates him so much.

"Come on, B.J.," he whispers to his son, "we gotta go surprise your mommy." He nuzzles the soft brown fuzz on top of Brandon's head, presses a kiss right above the shell of his tiny ear. And then, with his other hand, he retrieves an old tray that belongs to _his_ mother, and sets the coffee cup and the plate on the metal of the tray, carefully lifts it off the counter, and carefully carries her breakfast and their baby into their bedroom.

When he turns towards the doorway to the bedroom, he sees her sitting up, propped up against a pile of pillows behind her back, a small, content smile on her face. He can't help but smile back.

* * *

Walls made of bookshelves are not conducive to secrecy. The gaps allow noise to easily pass from one room to the other, the rather large, open space of the rooms making sounds echo. So when she wakes up this morning, she almost instantly hears the happy, so called _conversation_ between her two boys, the overly-dramatic narrative her husband presents to their son. And though her stomach grumbles with hunger, and her arms ache for the weight of her son, mind burning for the sight of him, she can't bring herself to get up and ruin the moment. Not when she hears Castle mention Mother's Day, and she realizes what his plan is.

Luckily, it doesn't take long before she hears the metal clatter of something and the muffled whispers of her husband. And she reaches for his pillow, across the mattress, and then presses leans forward and sets both her pillow and his against the headboard, leaning back against them so she's both comfortable and in the optimal position to see into his office.

So, when he walks in, struggling to hold a tray steady with Brandon in his other arm, she sees him and can't help but smile. And then he smiles back, gently bounces their baby in his arm and she actually has to force herself to stay in bed and not go over and take the baby from him and press a kiss to her husband's adorable, happy little smile to thank him for being so considerate of her on this first mother's day she gets to celebrate as a mother, with her husband and her baby, and probably, a little later, with Martha and Alexis. With her family.

When he finally gets to the edge of the bed, she can't help but reach out. And though she can see that he's struggling more with the tray than with the baby, she reaches for Brandon instead of the delicious looking food her husband has made for her. Coos at her son and can't help the smile that tugs at her face when he coos back, turning towards her at the sound of her voice, blue eyes big and wide.

"Are you hungry, little man?" she asks him, carefully holding him up in front of her face. She blows a raspberry on his tummy, grins as he wiggles in reaction. She looks up at him, and his mouth is open, eyes locked on her face like he's examining her, little hands curled into fists in front of him. She does it again, just to feel him wiggle again, to create that look in his eyes and that happiness on his features. "I bet you are," she sings against his belly, nuzzling her nose against his sweet smelling skin.

Castle crawls onto the bed next to her, takes a seat against the headboard due to his lack of pillows, sets the plate down in the space between them, holds her coffee cup in his hand. She settles Brandon in her arms, gaze briefly darting to the clock to make sure they're on schedule, and then frees her breast from her shirt so her son can eat. He does, as happy and greedy as he was the day he was born.

She's gotten used to this now, can hold Brandon in one arm and do whatever with the other. Today, she uses it to reach out and pull Castle's face towards hers, presses a gentle kiss to his lips, mumbles her thanks against his mouth as his fingers drift through her messy hair. She can't lean into him, doesn't want to disturb the baby, but he leans into her, and his tongue sweeps across her lips before he pulls away, and holds the coffee cup up for her.

She smiles as she takes it from him, takes a slow sip and then hands it back to him so she can take a bite of her pancakes. The fork refuses to cut through the strawberries, and the pressure of the metal against the sponge of her food is enough to make some of the whipped cream squeeze out of the sides. She swipes at it with his fork, licks it off the prongs, letting it melt in her mouth, just a hint of strawberry juice coating her tongue. And then she eats the bite of actual pancake, moans around the mixture of soft and spongy and creamy and crisp and sweet.

"So, do you have any other plans for today?" she asks him casually. About half the pancake stack is gone by then, and she feels Brandon turn his head away from her breast, done with that one, so she hands him off the Castle to be burped, watches as her husband carefully places their baby on his thigh so she can still see his little face, from bright blue eyes to rosebud lips. She smiles. "Besides breakfast in bed, I mean, because, knowing you, you probably have the whole day mapped out with a surprise around every corner, like you did on our wedding anniversary."

He smiles at her. "Okay, you can pretend you hated that all you want, but you _know_ you loved it," he tells her, like he always does when she mentions it. And, with a waggle of his eyebrows, he adds, "You proved it that night when neither one of us got any sleep because _Mrs._ couldn't keep her hands to herself," whispering as though Brandon will somehow understand. She lets out a huff, shoves gently at his shoulder, but she knows she's smiling. Can feel it, can see it in his smile. "But no, nothing like that for today. Today is all up to you, all about you. But I was thinking we could bring him to the park today, let him lay down in the grass, fuel his curious little brain."

She feels her smile widen, in perfect synchronization with the burp of their little boy, and nods her head. "That sounds perfect, babe," she whispers to him. And she presses a kiss to his lips as she reaches over to take Brandon so he can finish his meal.

* * *

He used to come to the park all the time when Alexis was little. With no steady work hours, he could bring her whenever she wanted. And with her porcelain skin, big blue eyes and intelligence that challenged him in _any_ debate, he had been powerless to resist her. So they would come to the part. He would watch as she played, and then they'd walk away, her little hand wrapped around just a couple of his fingers as she told him about the new friend she met that day.

He would always cherish those moments, the fun, the happiness, the smile on Alexis' face. It was joy, pure joy, years ago when his daughter was just a tiny little girl with long orange hair. The park is mostly the same now, a spot of green amidst the greys and blacks of the city. Standing between trees, walking on dirt trails, but still hearing the roaring of cars and the hustle of the city, a contrast so sharp, but familiar and real and _happy._ It's still like that, even all these years later, but the journey through it is different. The flutter in his chest differentiating just a _tad_ from the one he remembers so clearly from when Alexis was little.

There's something about being _that_ couple in the park, _that_ family that fills him with pride. She pushes the stroller with ease, steps as steady and comfortable as they are when she walks up to a crime scene or into her interrogation room. Though at the beginning she was a little hesitant, a worrying first time mom, now, she exudes confidence. A proud mother with her head held high or dipped down towards her baby, a smile on her face. And he enjoys it, watching her with Brandon. He holds her waist, walks by her side, perfectly in step with her.

Brandon has been lulled to sleep by the slight rocks and bounces of the stroller over the barely uneven path on which they travel, lying on his back in the stroller, head rolled to the side, content as can be. His breathing is steady, soft but audible is the quiet of the park. He's not dreaming right now, their little boy perfectly at peace in the green of a grey city. He's probably going to wake when they get to their destination, but for now, he is sound asleep, happy and perfect and handsome.

Kate leads him and pushes Brandon down the path she uses for her occasional morning runs in the park. She's silent most of the way, only occasionally speaking to him, and to Brandon, even though the baby is asleep. She points out a few of her favorite wild flowers and trees. She mumbles about going to certain, specific places to think. One of them, where two big, old trees stand side by side, is where she went when thoughts of children would come to her in the early mornings shortly after their wedding. That's where she decided she wanted to be a mother, she tells him, but she never got to act on the decision because Brandon showed up in their lives.

The path widens at a grassy opening, and though he can see the dirt that continues on the opposite side of the clearing, but he knows this is where they're going to stop. The dirt beneath the grass is bumpy and more uneven and he can tell that Kate is being careful not to jostle Brandon too much as she leads them to where trees meet the edge of the grass, and she comes to a stop in front of a big tree that stands tall next to a small, skinny sapling, leaves still sparse and trunk still weak.

He retrieves the picnic blanket from the basket at the base of the stroller, spreads it out on the ground while she lifts Brandon from the stroller. And, as he sits down near one edge of the blanket, she crouches next to him, drops into a sitting position, Brandon settled in her arm. She smiles at him, wide and bright and happy, and he can't help but lean over and brush his lips over hers, feeling her gentle response.

They're quiet for a while. As he expected, Brandon soon begins to stir in Kate's arms. His little eyelids flutter and his breathing grows quicker until little eyes peel open and little lips part one what would likely be a cry. But he's ahead of the game, knows his son well, and while Kate is ready to soothe Brandon's impending screams, he has already pulled the pacifier from one of the diaper bag's side pouches, has it poised above Brandon's mouth before the baby can make a sound.

"Thank you," she whispers, and then, as though they haven't been saying it since the day Brandon arrived, she adds "You're so good with him."

This time, because she's so focused on Brandon's big eyes, his kiss lands on her temple, sappy and sentimental, but his heart flutters in his chest and this is her first Mother's Day and, really, how could he possibly resist when she's handling their son with such joyful care. "You are, too," he tells her.

She lays Brandon down in the middle of the blanket and, twisting back to where the diaper bag sits behind them, pulls a brightly colored rattle from one of the pouches. He remembers when they bought it, knows it's been her favorite of Brandon's toys ever since. The bright blue, plush hoop with the cartoon elephant head on it. She smiles at the baby before holding the toy up in front of his face, shaking it back and forth so it makes that rattling sound that drives Brandon crazy. And, sure enough, the baby's eyes widen and he kicks his legs on a happy coo.

His little arms flail as he reaches for the elephant rattle, fingers closing around air over and over again. The pacifier has fallen onto the blanket, but they're both too caught up in their baby to notice. He watches Kate's smile and Brandon's mirroring attempt, the scrunching of his little nose as he tries to mirror his mommy's happy expression. He listens to Kate's baby talk babbles and Brandon's responding gurgles, watches a his son catches himself off guard when he accidentally blows a bubble and it bursts with a soft pop.

Kate gives the baby the toy for a couple minutes, sits back on her feet and watches him shake it almost desperately, watching the back and forth of the rattle like it's some kind of magic. She smiles and tugs gently on Brandon's tiny feet.

"What's that, B.J.? Huh? What's that, buddy?" she asks over and over again, and every few seconds, when Brandon's arm gets tired and he drops it onto the blanket next to him, he sees the baby searching for her, for her voice, and the happiness in his eyes when he finds his mommy. "Yeah, that's your elephant. Right, B.J.?" she sings to their son, tugging on his feet. And then she turns to him. "Should we do tummy time early? It'll be different for him. Doing it outside."

He nods, watches her as she flips Brandon from his back onto his stomach. And though the baby whines for a few seconds, he soon gets over it, when Kate begins tickling his chubby cheek with the tip of a blade of grass. And, silently, he watches his wife and his son start their game of cooing and sing-songing and playing and gurgling all over again, perfect in its innocence.

* * *

Brandon falls asleep at the park, after a quick diaper change and a quiet feeding, lying on her chest, cheek squished against her shoulder. She rubs his back, taps the diaper that cover his bottom, keeps him warm with a receiving blanket resting on his back. And, eventually, she snaps his onesie back on, careful not to wake him. And then the tiny cargo shorts that keep him from being too warm in the late spring son.

His hand holds onto her hip as they walk back through the park. She cherishes the way he holds her close, their little boy in front of them. The picture perfect family she once thought she'd never have. And she listens to his every word as he whispers about how much he loves watching her with Brandon, about how he really had _no idea,_ back when they met, that they would ever end up here. She had _no idea_ , too.

He brings her to a small coffee shop, family owned, secluded all the while tucked between the businesses that line the New York City streets. Brandon is still asleep when they get there, and she follows him inside, reminding him to get her decaf, since she already had her pediatrician-approved coffee of the day and then takes a seat in one of the booths. She gently rolls the stroller back and forth, alternating between watching her husband and watching her little boy.

She can tell, while she's sitting in the booth and he's waiting in line, that he's talking about her. She knows him well, though he's not being in any way discreet about it. And, although she can't actually hear him because of the coffee shops happy chatter and the distance between them, she's fairly certain he tells at least three people that it's her first Mother's Day and he's trying to spoil her.

He slides into the booth with two coffee cups and a paper bag. "Cappuccino for me," he says, holding up one cup as he carefully slides the other across the table, " _decaf_ grande skim latte with two pumps of sugar-free vanilla for you. And a bear claw." He pulls the pastry out of the bag and slides that across the table, too, shrugging a shoulder. "I've been slacking since you've been on maternity leave."

She smiles, first takes a sip of her coffee and then a bite of the bear claw. "You haven't heard me complaining," she tells him with a smile. "Besides, you still spoil me. You get up with me every time he wakes up, make me breakfast almost every day, give me time to do my own thing all the while understanding my clingy mommy hormones, as you call them. I think every new mom wants a husband like you."

He reaches over, squeezes her hand. "You know, when you go back to work and your mommy hormones are all out of whack, B.J. and I will stop by the precinct every day to bring you coffee and a bear claw," he promises, his words as sincere as their vows.

"Thank you," she whispers. She smiles, at lip, lower lip pulled between her teeth. "But my mommy hormones will _not_ be all out of whack. You just have to send me a picture of him every hour or two." She plays coy, taking a slow sip of her coffee, still rolling the stroller back and forth.

He promises, of course, a smile on his face as they finish their coffees, and share her pastry before leaving the coffee shop. They run into a couple who is just coming in at the door. The woman gushes over how adorable Brandon is, and though the beautiful diamond ring on the woman's left hand tells her the couple is engaged, she can't help but be surprised when the woman turns to her fiancé and tells him that _they_ need to have a baby. The man looks just as surprised, and both she and Castle are laughing about the deer caught in headlights look that had appeared on the stranger's face.

They get to a flower shop and he all but drags her inside. She stands near the register and lets him pick a bouquet while the young girl standing on the other side of the counter gushes over Brandon and tells stories about her new baby cousin. A couple minutes later, he's paying for a large bouquet, handing it to her. It's mostly sunflowers, yellow and brown, separated by smaller, violet flowers. She smiles, presses a quick kiss in thanks to his lips and hands off the bouquet when he finishes paying, opting instead for the stroller's handle.

When they get home, Brandon is still asleep. While Castle goes to put her flowers in water, she goes upstairs, sets Brandon down in his crib. When she gets back downstairs, only minutes later, he's sitting on one of the chairs at the breakfast counter, flowers to his right, a small black box sitting on the counter in front of him. She feels her brows furrow, her steps slow as she slowly walks towards him.

She slides into the chair next to him, reaching out to rest her hand over this, mumbling a silent question, _babe?_ His smile is warm and reassuring, not that she was nervous. He reaches over and rests his hand over hers, slides the box in front of her.

"Go ahead. Open it," he whispers. "It's your first Mother's Day gift, from me and B.J."

She stares at him for a moment, and then turns toward the small box, thumbs easily popping the lid open. Staring up at her is a silvery ring that glimmers in the bright kitchen light. It's simple, a band that eventually separates, forming two smaller bands that hold a pair of gems in place. The first gem is a dark shade of red, a garnet. And the second one is orange. She recognizes it immediately as her birthstone, the yellow topaz. The ring has a chain looped through it, and though tears already sting at her eyes, she looks up at him for an explanation.

"It's called a mother's pride ring," he says immediately, "the first gem is a garnet, his birthstone, and the second one is a topaz, your birthstone." He squeezes her hand. "I know you haven't worn your mother's ring since we caught Bracken, or your engagement ring since we got married. I figured you would want to keep this one safe, too, so I got the chain with it. You don't have to wear it that way, th-"

She cuts him off with a kiss, hard and fast, fingers curling into his hair. "Thank you," she mumbles against his lips, "you are _so_ sweet, babe. So sweet." She pulls away slowly, reaches down for the chain. "Do you wanna be sappy and put it on me?" she asks.

He lets out a puff of air. "Me? Sappy?" He holds his hands up as though acting insulted that she would even _imply_ such a thing, but then his eyes meet hers. "Always," he says, and he's mirroring her smile, holding his hand out to take the chain from her.

She pulls her hair up, and he easily does up the clasp behind her neck, fingers lingering and he presses a kiss to her nape, fingers splaying across her upper-arms. His lips dance across her cheekbone, and she turns to meet his kiss, hand reaching up to curl into the hair at his nape.

"Happy Mother's Day, Kate," he whispers.

When she attempts to whisper her _thanks_ , she's cut off by the sharp, loud cry of their baby.

Duty calls, but she has no complaints. Because when she holds him in her arms, feels his weight against her chest, watches him eat, feels him fall asleep in her arms, she feels nothing but absolute bliss.

* * *

 **This was supposed to be posted Sunday, but I didn't get it finished until today. So, happy belated Mother's Day to all the mommies of the Castle fandom. Hope you enjoyed this little piece of fluff. This was unedited, so all mistakes are mine. Sorry about them.**


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